The Lost Bird
by voidxgear
Summary: Jason Todd is tired of the bat family digging empty graves. When he learns about Tim's sacrifice for Gotham, he decides he needs proof that he's really dead. His search brings him results he could never have anticipated. Picks up after Tim's "death" after Detective Comics #140 and diverges from canon there. Intended to be a different take on the Bat family's response to the events


Jason Todd knew what it was like. Even after all these years, it still often kept him awake at night. Not a day went by where he didn't think about it, that all-consuming darkness…the nothingness. Before it happened, he used to imagine death as a kind of sleep. Only, of course, permanent. Turned out, that wasn't the case because when you're sleeping, some part of you is still aware. Still ticking. There is nothing in death. No ticking. No dreaming. Game over. Well, at least there hadn't been anything for him: a street rat with all the baggage a boy could carry.

First it was Bruce, then Dick, then Damian. Upon learning of their deaths, he couldn't help but wonder if they'd felt the way he'd felt in those last moments. The way he'd felt when he watched the timer on the Joker's bomb tick to the final seconds, knowing it was all over for him. He wondered if their last thoughts were similar to his own last thoughts. Then again, maybe not. None of them were anything like him. In Jason's final moments, he only wished Bruce could hear his apology. He doubted that Bruce, Dick, or Damian had apologies in their final moments. Regrets maybe, but not apologies. Well, turned out, neither Bruce nor Dick had ever died. And Damian? He was back to being the brat Robin as before, seemingly unaffected by what had happened to him, save for a brief stint with some superpowers. Then again, with that kid, it was always hard to tell what really went on in that head of his.

And now…Tim.

It stung like a bitch. Tim had never done a damn thing wrong in his life. He hadn't been like any of them. He had no natural physical prowess or skills, just a brain that worked like a machine. A super-computer inside his head. And yet, down the line, he had worked his little ass off to fight alongside any one of them. Everything Tim had, he worked hard for, right from becoming Robin. He was the only Robin who wasn't chosen, but who had chosen the identity instead. His strong heart and mind were unique in every way. Though they'd been at odds on occasion…Jason respected these things about him. At least, once he'd gotten his head out of his ass.

And now he was gone.

He couldn't think about it. Picturing Tim in his last moments, too weakened to fight anymore before he was obliterated, his last thoughts probably something to do with how he wasn't good enough to stop the drones he was fighting….something about it was just too much.

Part of it was probably because of how…permanent this felt. Somehow, this felt different to Jason than the times he'd thought he'd lost anyone else. There was no room for hope that Tim had survived. There had been too many drones, blasting him all at once. Jason wasn't exactly the hopeful type, it never really did him any good, but just this once…a bit of it would have been nice.

But now, there was nothing but rubble.

Jason knew that Bruce had been through the rubble already. Thoroughly. He didn't even have to ask him that, he just knew Bruce. If there was any chance at all...Bruce would find it. In his right mind, Jason knew that. The problem was…Jason wasn't in his right mind.

Jason wasn't the detective Bruce or Tim was, but he'd still been trained by The World's Greatest Detective. He could still carefully go through the rubble, ignoring the yellow police tape around the site at the belfry. Truthfully, he didn't know what he was looking for. What was he expecting to find at the site of several explosions? But something was eating at him…

When Bruce had been through this site, he had said that he didn't find any trace of Tim. However, he also plainly stated that there…likely wasn't anything to find. There were so many drones that….

In so many words, no way out.

But couldn't there have been…something other than his bo staff? A tooth, a strand of hair, anything? It had to be eating at Bruce, right? So what the hell was Bruce doing, obtaining a death certificate for his legal son instead of digging here? There just…there had to be _something!_

He spent hours of careful digging. Multiple nights. Several types of analysis of the material and matter in the debris.

Nothing.

"Go home, Jason."

It didn't surprise Jason that Bruce was here. What surprised him was that he only just now caught him in the act after all the nights he'd already spent here.

Jason stood up and looked at him, mask to mask. Or more accurately, helmet to cowl. "It doesn't make any goddamn sense, B. You expect me to believe there's no trace of him?"

"We've been over this."

"Yeah, I know. You tell us that you've been here, you got his staff, and the rest of him was blown to bits. Yeah, I got it. I don't need to hear it again."

"He gave his life to—"

"Save it. Like you said, we've been over this already."

Bruce frowned, pulling out his grappling gun. "The city starts cleanup of the site tomorrow. Don't let me catch you here again."

"How many times?"

Bruce looked at him. "What?," he asked, keeping his signature Batman growl.

"How many times are you going to dig empty graves?" There was more venom to Jason's voice than he'd intended, but he decided he didn't care. If anything, Bruce deserved it for not turning this place upside down to at least give them some goddamn closure.

Bruce didn't answer. Jason frowned as he watched him shoot his grappling hook to a nearby building, leaving the conversation, as per usual. He didn't know how he could do it, just leave so easily like that while there had to be something here…that would give them some answers….

It wasn't the first time Jason had felt like Bruce hadn't done enough after losing one of his Robins. One of his sons.

He glanced at the sky, catching dawn's rays beginning to spread over Gotham and, with that, decided it was time to call it day anyway. He swiped a few small pieces of debris for later scanning and headed back to his hideout underneath the police station, the closest thing to a home he had right now. It was the first of many pieces he'd obtained for scanning already. Time to finally put those forensic skills to use.

Jason's hideout was no batcave. He didn't have near the amount and quality of equipment but he had enough to work with. All the behind-the-scenes stuff wasn't really Jason's style since he preferred to go in guns blazing, but sometimes it was necessary, even for him. Gotham was full of snakes and scum and if looking under a microscope or analyzing various chemical compounds meant that he could outsmart them, then he'd gladly do it.

To that end, much of his equipment and programs were built and designed not by him, but someone else. The kid with a super computer brain and sometimes pain in the ass. Tim had teased him, told him that he'd owed him several times over, but it was pretty obvious that he didn't mean it. Tim didn't care if the favor was returned. He was just glad Jason was out there.

It was pretty funny. He'd be using Tim's programs to look for him.

Even though he'd been collecting pieces of debris for several days, he had yet to examine any of them. He kept each piece secured in separate small containers, waiting on a shelf for him to get to work. Night after night for a couple of weeks or so now, the shelf was filling with more and more containers. It looked like a damn crime lab. He should have started his research days ago, but…

What if he found something? Logically, there'd have to be something, because Tim had been standing there getting shot at endlessly. Even to that end there'd have to be some trace of his DNA. What happened if he found sufficient evidence that he was really…gone? What then?

He didn't know. He just knew that not looking was killing him.

By the time he settled in his hideout, took off his helmet, boots, and armor, it was full daylight. He'd been up all night and he was tired. Trying to look through all this "evidence" when he was fully awake would be bad enough, considering how much he hated that kind of work, but it would be next to impossible when he was falling asleep.

After making sure the hideout was secure, he retreated to a cot he kept there, and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Jason was standing in front of a glass cage not unlike those found in zoos. It was small in width but about three times as high. There were no doors, windows, or even air holes. No way in or out. This fact made the blood in Jason's veins run cold as he observed what was inside of the cage.

A boy. The boy was sitting on the floor, legs crossed and only dressed from the waist down. Surrounding him was various pieces of clothing and small equipment, all of it torn apart and dismantled. The boy, who looked only a few years younger than Jason, was tinkering with some of the small electronic equipment, looking in deep thought. His shoulders were tense with frustration, but he looked determined nonetheless.

The boy snapped out of his concentration as he noticed Jason standing there. The look of determination quickly shifted to a mixture of desperation and relief. With wide eyes, the boy jumped to his feet, slamming his palms on the glass and pleaded to Jason.

"Jason! I'm so glad you're here. Get me out of here!"

Jason's eyebrows rose. "Don't know how you know my name, kid, but you can answer that after I bust you out." There were no doors or windows, but there wasn't anything the right firearm couldn't take care of. His hands went to his waist, only to find his holders empty. Confused, he reached for his shoulder holster. Nothing there either. Nothing in his jacket pockets. Nothing on his ankle. None of his weapons anywhere. Not even a shitty pocket knife. The hell? Jason never left home without a weapon. Hadn't he come here with weaponry?

While Jason searched himself for a weapon, the boy's wide eyes grew increasingly more pleading. His slender hands trembled against the thick, most likely bulletproof glass. "Jay…what are you talking about? It's me."

"Sorry, don't know anyone named 'me.'" Not even the knives in his boots? Really?

The boy slammed a fist against the glass in frustration. "This isn't funny, jerk! Hurry and get me out before he comes back!"

"Before who comes back?" Jason demanded, at this point confused and annoyed. Look, if he was going to help this kid out, the kid could at least be more grateful. Sheesh. Manners.

"I believe he meant me."

It was a new voice, low and raspy, coming from behind Jason. Jason spun around to see a hooded figure.

"Who the hell are you? Halloween isn't for another six months, asshole."

"It is none of your concern."

The hooded figure waved his hand and a large beam of light energy was being shot towards Jason. Jason had no time to react, and the last thing he heard was the boy's screams.

"No! Jasoooon!"

It wasn't unusual for Jason to wake up in a sweat or with his heart racing. This time, however, there was something particularly unsettling about it.

He shoved his blanket off as he sat up, swinging his legs off the cot. He could still remember the dream vividly. It was Tim. He'd dreamed about Tim. Yet in the dream, he had no idea who Tim was. What kind of messed up crap was that? He mentally thanked his piece of shit brain for conjuring up something so ridiculous. Sleep was important to him and with dreams like this he wouldn't get it sufficiently. Stupid dreams.

Jason wasn't the type to analyze his dreams, but the image of Tim's wide, moist eyes staring back at him as he realized Jason didn't know who he was stuck out in his head. The picture wouldn't leave. Being forgotten was worse than being dead. Jason felt like he could say that with certainty. The pain in Tim's eyes was so raw and even now that he was awake, Jason's chest was still tight just thinking about it. Somehow, that had felt even worse than the impending death of his dream self and he didn't know why.

Groaning, he pulled his phone out of a pocket (because yes, he wore jeans to sleep sometimes), to see that it was only noon. He'd only gotten a few hours of sleep. He could try to fall back asleep if he wanted, but….

"Screw you, Timmy," he muttered in frustration. What right did Tim have to invade his dreams like that? He had enough ridiculous nightmares that plagued his sleep at night without Tim joining the party.

He moved from his cot to this computer, switching everything on. First thing he usually did when he woke up was check any alerts from police dispatch or just the news, but there didn't seem to be anything major currently. It was broad daylight and while that didn't mean Gotham had a reprieve from crime, there usually wasn't as much. Most of the big stuff usually took place at night, so Jason reserved his sleeping for the daytime hours because he wanted the big stuff. The small time stuff that took place during the day was boring.

He glanced at the shelf of small plastic containers that were tightly sealed with various pieces of concrete, brick, and whatever else from the scene of Tim's death. Was this really a good idea? What could he possibly do that Bruce couldn't or wouldn't? But as soon as he had that thought, he recalled how dismissive Bruce seemed to be whenever the subject came up. Yeah, Bruce had his own way of dealing with grief and everything else, but it almost sounded as though he didn't care. His cold approach to these things bothered Jason so much it made him angry. It was probably hypocritical of him, but dammit, Tim was Bruce's first legal son. He'd died to save Gotham, to save all of them. That kind of sacrifice couldn't be ignored.

All Jason really wanted was proof. No more empty graves. No more. He just wanted closure and he felt that they owed that much to Tim.

He grabbed the first container.

Maybe he just needed more samples. The site of the blasts was pretty large and Jason had picked up his samples pretty randomly. Maybe Bruce had the only samples that would have anything on them. Maybe there was something else his equipment hadn't picked up, some small trace of DNA that the tech he had couldn't detect.

Maybe, maybe, maybe…Jason hated maybes. He liked certainty. Maybes usually meant he was working a dead end. But this just didn't make any damn sense. How could there be no trace of Tim's DNA on more than 10 pieces of debris that he'd picked up? How could there just be _nothing?_

So he did exactly what Bruce told him not to do and went back to the site, again. He was used to disobeying Bruce, at least for the most part, and he was determined to keep digging until he found something that would give him some kind of definitive answer because he'd be damned if he was going to let this go. Letting it go would mean giving up and as cheesy as it sounded, Tim didn't die for this. Maybe Bruce had given up, but Jason wouldn't.

Previously, he'd gone as Red Hood but since it was in the middle of the day he decided to go as just Jason. He could still sneak around, he thought, and at least pick up something. Only, he'd forgotten that cleanup was starting today. By now, it was late afternoon so the crews were leaving, but most of the debris had been gone. Gotham cleanup crews had a reputation for working pretty fast because, well, they did this pretty often. Jason had come to pick up more samples, but there wasn't anything to pick up.

His heart sank, but that quickly turned to anger. Why was Bruce just letting this happen?

Before he could go much longer on that thought, he spotted someone else several feet away, on the outside of the police tape, just standing there. Dick.

Oh, great. What, was Bruce having Dick and others keep an eye on the area in case Jason decided to tamper with it again? Jason wasn't in the mood for this. He'd come back later after nightfall. Without acknowledging the former Boy Wonder's presence, he turned the other way to head back to his hideout.

Of course, this was when Dick spotted him. "Jason! Wait!"

Jason stopped but didn't turn around as he listened to Dick running towards him on light feet. Dick approached him quickly and Jason wondered why he didn't just keep going. Probably because he knew Dick would chase after him.

"You can report to Bruce that I said I don't care what he has to say."

"Report? What are you talking about? Jason, I just….will you at least look at me?"

Maybe he was wrong. Dick's voice was heavy, full of sadness. If he were trying to confront Jason because of Bruce, he would have already let him know about it. So Jason turned around, keeping his face even and calm as usual.

The look of sadness in Dick's eyes was slightly reminiscent of the haunting look in Tim's eyes from his dream, but Jason pushed the thought aside. "I thought you were in Blüdhaven."

"I was, but I just came here to…" He didn't have to finish the sentence.

"What do you want?" Okay, fine, so Dick had come here to brood about Tim. What did that have to do with Jason? Couldn't he just leave him alone?"

Dick frowned, averting Jason's piercing gaze. "Bruce says he can't find anything."

Being in normal clothing in broad daylight, in a public spot even, meant that they had to speak vaguely. This was ideal for Jason right now, as he really didn't want to talk about this at all, especially the specifics of it. "Yeah. He's been saying that a lot."

"I guess I just wish…we had something to…to…."

"Bury?" Jason said. His annoyance at Dick coming to him was slowly fading the more he saw the hurt look on his face. The thing was, he knew Dick could hide that hurt if he needed to or wanted to. It appeared that he didn't care about hiding it in front of Jason, and some part of Jason couldn't help silently acknowledging that.

"Yeah," Dick said quietly, looking up at the tower.

Jason fought with himself for a split second and he wasn't sure why, but the words left his mouth before he could stop it. It wasn't like him, but it happened. "I can't find anything either."

Dick's head snapped back to look at him, slightly surprised. "You've been looking? Bruce said—"

"I know what he said. Like I said, I don't care."

The corner of Dick's mouth twitched, like it was fighting between frowning and a slight smirk. Or maybe he was fighting some tears. With Dick the full spectrum of emotion was entirely possible. "The other night I came here looking for some DNA samples."

Jason raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? And you found nothing, didn't you?"

"Not a trace. Tried to see if anything matched any material from his uniform too."

"Nothing there either," Jason said, keeping his eyes on Dick's expression. He still half expected Dick to be working for Bruce somehow in all this, but the earnestness in his eyes made Jason start to believe that wasn't the case.

"Nothing. It's like…"

"Like he was never even there."

"Yeah. Like he was never there."

He should be glad that he at least wasn't alone in this and that he wasn't going crazy in still looking. But he wasn't. This was one of those times were Jason wanted so badly to be wrong. What was supposed to happen now? None of them could find anything. The only trace Tim had been here at all was from his staff, which Bruce was in possession of. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

He was too frustrated and angry to stand around and be sentimental with Dick, so he decided to nip that in the bud as he turned around again to head back to the hideout. Besides, he should at least get a nap in before patrolling tonight.

"Bruce said there would be nothing left. Go home, Dick."

"You said you didn't care what he said!" Dick called after him, a sense of desperation in his voice.

Jason didn't answer.

There were a few good hours of daylight left, which meant that Jason had plenty of time to nap before the sunset. As soon as he returned to his hideout, he crashed on his cot and, eventually, fell asleep.

Jason's computers were shut off when he fell asleep. He specifically remembered coming back and crashing on the cot without turning anything on. So it made absolutely no sense that everything was on and running when he woke up.

Unless someone had been here. He'd secured the hideout when he'd arrived and the only person who could get in at that point would be Bruce. As Jason sat up in his cot, he did a quick scan around the room to see if anything had been tinkered with, but everything was exactly how he left it. And even though the computers had somehow been turned on, all his monitors were on their home screens. Like someone had just turned them on and walked off.

He moved from his cot to his computer chair, checking for any recently opened programs or anything that might be currently running in the background. All he found was the activities he'd recently been doing from the police reports he'd been looking at to some files in his "open cases" folder.

He was unnerved, but maybe he should just chalk it up to a lapse in memory. Maybe he'd come back with the intent to check a few things and decided he was too tired. Wouldn't be the first time. Settling in his chair, he decided to peek in his open cases folder since he was currently too groggy to remember everything that was in it.

There hadn't been much in it, and all the files currently there were tied to one particular case, a case he'd apparently titled "Lost Bird" at some point. He didn't remember doing that, but sometimes when he got to working he kind of….zoned out, so he didn't think anything of it. He clicked on one of the image files, trying to jog his memory of the details of this particular case. Something about an explosion. Or was it multiple explosions? No, wait, it was about some kid. The image he clicked on came up, showing the face of a teenage boy. In the picture, the boy was sitting behind an expensive laptop in a dining room in Wayne Manor. Most of the boy's face was hidden but his eyes were narrowed as though he were annoyed at his picture being taken. A timestamp on the picture was labeled for last year.

Oh, wait, he knew that boy. Tim, right? What did he have to do with this case?

Thinking about it made Jason's head hurt. He made a mental note to go out for some headache medicine later on when he got something to eat.

As if he didn't have enough of a headache, his speakers started squeaking loudly with feedback. Jason groaned and winced a bit, trying quickly to find out what was causing it but according to his computer, the speakers were working normally.

Jason let out a string of curses trying to shut the speakers off when the feedback stopped and was replaced with static instead. The static was at least quieter, and Jason was just about to shut the speakers off finally when he heard a distorted voice come through.

"-an anyone –ear me? Can –nyone hear m-?"

The voice, distorted through static as it was, was familiar. So familiar, like he'd known it for years. Yet he was having trouble thinking of who it belonged to.

"—s any—there?!"

"Who is this?" Jason demanded. His body was tense. His hands were balled into fists not because he was ready to fight, but because of how confused he was. Something didn't feel right. Something about all this just stunk and he didn't like it."

"Jason?! Jas—it's me! Whe—Bruce?"

Jason scowled. "I don't know anyone named 'me' so who the hell is this?"

That didn't make the voice happy. "This –sn't funny, you jerk! It's me! -'s Tim!"

Tim….

Tim!

Jason straightened his posture immediately, scrambling with settings on his computer to see where the fuck this signal was coming from. What the hell was going on? Why his computer, why now? Was Bruce picking this up in the cave? Jason scrambled to record the audio, hoping to keep the connection, wherever it was coming from.

"Where are you?!" He demanded, voice rising.

"Not –ure. I'm st—working on it. Tell Bru—I'm alive. Tell –uce someone is messing with the timeline!"

Jason was confused, yet again, which only led to him being angry, yet again. "Flash? You gotta be more specific here!"

"No! So—one we've never –een before!"

"Who?"

"I –on't know but he's –ery—"

Static took over the connection and the voice fizzled out. Jason inwardly panicked, feeling as though he desperately could not lose the connection, but something about the voice and the person behind it just felt….so far away in his mind. So distant. Almost as though he were just listening to a podcast or something instead of having a broken conversation.

"Hey. Hey! Where'd you go? Kid!"

The static faded out and soon there was nothing coming through the speakers. Jason tapped and clicked but no matter what he did, nothing happened. The connection was gone.

Frustrated, he tried to play back what he'd recorded of the audio instead. But the audio file was gone. There was no audio file. He knew he had hit record. He checked the recycle bin, checked other folders to see if it had been misplaced in his scrambling, but the most recent audio file was from a month ago for a separate case.

He balled his hand into a fist, slamming it down on the large control panel. "Damn it!"

He tried to play back the broken conversation in his mind instead, only to recall bits and pieces of it. Something about someone messing with the timeline. The voice was so anxious and scared but was trying to be brave in spite of the situation.

But who was it that he had been talking to? The name faded from memory. Or maybe the kid had never given his name at all.


End file.
